Judith Collins

like!’’

I said, ‘‘What d’you mean, ‘your mate Slater’? You and Cam are thick as thieves. You get up to all sorts of things together. Things that not even Hager knows. Things you’d like to keep secret.’’ I could hear him breathing. He said, ‘‘Is that a threat?’’ I held the receiver closer to my mouth and breathed loudly.

He said, ‘‘Tomorrow. You can go out tomorrow. Just for a bit.’’

We’ve always understood each other perfectly.

THURSDAY

Politics is a stage. I command it. I thrive on the spotlight and the applause of the audience and the opportunity to perform in the grand theatrical manner.

Today I settled for making

a quick visit Mangere.

It was off-Broadway but they all count. On the way there, I Sabin. What if Sabin was there? Brook Sabin, the TV3 cub reporter, with his fresh little face and his white little teeth, has always brought out the worst in me. It was Sabin who reduced me to a raving ninny during the Oravida scandal, when I shot my mouth off about Katie Bradford. It was Sabin who made me look bad the last time I was let out in public, when I stormed past him in the airport like a criminal.

I got to Mangere. The press were there but no sign of Sabin. It went without a hitch and I could feel the love of the public. Things are looking good.

to

a

business

froze.

in John phoned and said, ‘‘Things are looking bad. We’re hanging on by our fingernails. Don’t go outside again. Every time you do, we suffer. OK? Take one for the team.’’

I can never resist his wheedling and pathetic manner when the chips are down.

I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and got up sometime around 4am and went to the kitchen and that’s when I screamed.

Hager had been at the biscuits again. Hager – and Sabin, in cahoots, stuffing their greedy little faces. I shook the packet. I was definitely another few biscuits short of a packet.

I screamed and ran amok and heard the ambulance, its siren from afar.